Nathan was shocked, badly shocked. He had seen Bernice on the streets of Paris once, at the time of her mother’s funeral. But he had not beheld her in a “close up” or spoken with her since the day in Haskell’s pasture. He looked at the woman approaching him now and—and she was Bernice Gridley—but oh, how changed! Nathan knew she was of an age with himself, just turning twenty-seven. She looked forty and not very successful in looking it, either. She was half a head shorter than Nathan and had to look slightly upward into his eyes. Yet she was big-boned and coarsened, and the daring gown she wore did nothing to soften the outlines of coarseness in her figure. The gown was plainly expensive, yet on Bernie it was hideous. It was dull green, to contrast with her once-gold hair. But it was cut from the bust down almost to her waist in the back and the display of nudity was disgusting and repellent, particularly so because Bernie had lost her girlhood plumpness. Her bones poked through her skin and her sawtooth spine reminded Nathan of some pictures he had once seen of starving Cubans, taken nude to show their pathetic emaciation. The woman carried a large green fan which she now held against her flat breasts in a manner that only called attention to her bizarre costume and admitted that subconsciously it shamed her. Nathan was so stunned by the change that for a few seconds he could only stare, his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. Bernice took it for self-consciousness and provincial awkwardness, traits she detested. They reminded her too vividly of her humble origin and “what she had risen from.” “Well, Nathan?” she demanded sharply. “Where did you come from?” Nathan fought for his wits. “I’m—on my way to the Orient,” he stammered. “It’s—the first time—I was ever in Chicago—and I thought I’d stop off and look you—up!” “The Orient! What in the world are you going to the Orient for? Aren’t you afraid you’ll get lost out there—such a long way from Vermont?” “Of course, if you don’t care about seeing me, Bernie, I won’t impose on you,” returned Nathan stiffly. Bernice covered her annoyance with a forced smile. “What did you want to see me about?” she demanded. Well, what did he want to see her about? It would be a foolish reason—the true one—to explain. “I—I—haven’t seen you for going on sixteen years, Bernie. And I thought—I thought—well, I saw your father about a month ago.” “Yes? How is he?” Bernice asked it perfunctorily, as she might have asked after sundry unfortunates in devastated Belgium. “He’s—well,” gulped Nathan. He looked down at his hands, raised his eyes to Bernie’s, smiled foolishly, dropped them again in embarrassment. Bernice made no comment on her father being well. And Nathan saw how life had hardened her. The woman was adamant. Her eyes, as she watched the man’s embarrassment, seemed to declare, “Oh, what a hick you are! Oh, what a hick!” “Well?” she suggested irritably.